Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Are they pushovers?
Absolutely not.
Not when shit matters to them.
Like Blakely forcing me to buy the entire front row for her pending performance or Brae guilting me into finding an orchestra bootcamp for her over the summer.
No.
When it comes to shit, they give a fuck about?
They’re balls to the wall my kids, just like their brother.
It’s the other eighty to ninety percent of the time where they flex their “no need to make a fuss” muscles that I question their genetics.
I blame their uncle Puppet Boy.
That’s so him.
Unlike his two sons – James Jacob Reese or J.J. who was born the same year as the twins and Ryker Jeffrey Reese or R.J. who was born a year behind them – that are more like me and Nae.
Loud.
Messy.
Rebels for whatever cause they can think of at that particular moment.
You know, more likely to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.
By the way, that’s so not something Puppet Boy loves on pizza and movies night.
But it’s not my fault they love jalapeños, prosciutto, and hot honey on their thick crust.
Okay.
It’s not all my fault.
It’s their mom’s too!
She gave birth to them!
She should definitely share the blame!
“Mom, mom,” Blakely begins in an unexpected panic, fingers tugging impatiently on my short, green, “Drink Up, Grinches” fitted dress, “what if I miss my song cue?!” Another frantic pull is delivered. “What if the stage crew misses my song cue?!” More yanks at the stretchy fabric are executed. “The music people! The music people are gonna miss my song cue!”
“Why do you always blame the music department?” Brae grumps on a huff, glasses covered face leaning over the seat behind us. “Why can it never be anyone else’s fault?!”
“When has it ever been anyone else’s fault?!”
“Just because something hasn’t happened, doesn’t mean it can’t!”
And here’s that good ol’ “Bryn passion” Mom loves to tease me about.
Ugh.
I knew I should’ve ridden in the other SUV.
Watching Franken No Fun squirm from being serenaded by his can’t hold a tune or a beat husband, Templeton Holmes, next to Clark and Mom is definitely better than listening to the girls bicker.
Again.
I’d swear that that’s all they do if it weren’t for Temps’s reassurances that they don’t.
That seventy to eighty percent of the time they’re closer than a pair of sand tiger sharks post being abandoned by their mate.
And he’d know.
It’s his job to know.
He’s their manny.
During our first trip to Doctenn – to thank Kellan and Brie in person and retrieve our son along with the rest of our family – the two met through some of our mutual connections and instantly fell for each other.
I mean adorable love at first accent type of shit.
He initially came back with us for what was supposed to be an extended vacation to explore their relationship only to immediately take up the nannying mantal when Jessie decided she couldn’t work for us any longer.
Seeing Hurst hurt, hurt her.
It also had her come to the realization that that was what his job truly was.
Protecting us at all costs.
Putting us first no matter the consequence.
She couldn’t stomach the idea of being with someone who actively put himself in that position every day, and ultimately ended their fling.
She also came to the conclusion that working for a family this powerful with this level of enemies put her own life at risk, something else she wasn’t a fan of.
Ultimately, it all worked out.
According to Park, she finished her degree, moved to Vlasta, Wisconsin, recently married a professor of macroeconomics at the local university, and is a first-grade teacher at some private academy while we got another incredible member to our unstoppable crew.
Temps is well-educated, well-mannered, and possesses the patience of a saint, which came in extra handy when Wy was little, and the twins were babies.
He’s always willing and ready to throw on whatever color uniform shirt we need him to do that day whether it’s for command, engineer, or med bay.
Wes appreciates his flexibility.
And I appreciate the media not starting rumors that he’s sleeping with my husband.
See.
Everyone. Wins.
“They’re de-boarding,” Lurch announces, putting his phone down in the cup holder, prior to looking over his shoulder at me. “Do you mind if Hill and I switch places tonight? Maz is having her morning sickness in the evening like you did with the twins and Hamilton says that shit’s normal and that she’s fine, but I hate being gone for that shit if I really don’t have to be.”
Having Lurch not only fall in love but knock up Mazarine, the much younger, five foot nothing, mousy, bouncy, pasty, pastry assistant to Lucky – who refuses to ever get married – during her first year with us was to say the very least fucking surprising.
A lot like Hamilton marrying a black, female drummer – who loves to talk to Brae about female musicians – that he met at a speakeasy.